


Rub a Dub Dub (Two Men in a Tub)

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bath fun, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do I really need one with a title like that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rub a Dub Dub (Two Men in a Tub)

__

The case was barely a six, but Sherlock still needed to go to the yard to make his statement. He spent two hours explaining the most simple deductions to the most inane of people, and by the end of it, he was frustrated and frazzled and quite desperate to get home to John.

By the time the taxi finally pulled in front of 221B (after the cabbie took the worst possible route and spent the entire ride prattling on about John's blog and their cases), Sherlock was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl around his partner and be held.

He tread up the stairs, opened the door, and...oh. The flat was quiet, clean, and glowed with soft firelight. It appeared empty, but Sherlock felt John's presence. It's a funny thing, living with someone you know well, but you can always feel if they're there. At least Sherlock liked to think so. Suddenly, Sherlock noticed movement to his left. Looking down the hallway, he could see a flickering light coming from the bathroom. Now, this was decidedly strange. Neither he nor John even owned candles, much less used them. And - Sherlock inhaled deeply as he began walking toward the light - these candles were definitely _scented._ Vanilla and something floral...Jasmine? It was certainly conductive to seduction, or aimed at it at the very least.

As Sherlock approached the open bathroom door, he felt his stomach fluttering with nerves. He and John's relationship had turned physical two months before, and it was a relief for the two of them more than anything else. The tension between them had grown so great, every quiet moment between them was thick, the silence heavy with all the things they wouldn't -or couldn't- say.

Then one morning, Sherlock came out of his room to find John was making them breakfast. Eggs, sausages, and toast with jam. He was in a t-shirt and loose-fitting flannel pyjama bottoms. His hair was rumpled and he was humming a song. Stevie Wonder. The one about being a parcel in the post to someone. A ridiculously happy pop song, and John was bopping his head, even swaying his hips a bit as he plated the food and went to the refrigerator to retrieve milk.

Sherlock had cleared his throat and John and wheeled around, looking a bit caught-out, but pleased nonetheless, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. John had greeted him with a 'good morning', and Sherlock responded by walking to him, pressing him back against the door of the fridge and kissing him. And, well, John had been very...responsive.

Since then, their relationship had been extremely affectionate, and loathe as he was to admit it, Sherlock loved it. He loved John cuddling him, he loved the rubbing on his back and shoulders, the playing with his hair. He loved the automatic-but-loving kisses every time John walked by. To his temple or the top of his head, to his hand, wrist, neck, nose, and mouth. And Sherlock loved when John got a bit gropey with him while they made out on the sofa or bed. Sherlock suppressed a shudder at the plebeian teenaged term, but there was no other phrase that quite described it. He and John made out. A lot.

But they hadn't....yet. It wasn't as though Sherlock didn't want to. Being sexually inexperienced didn't mean he was some delicate flower too pure to touch. He enjoyed touch. He enjoyed when John was gentle and slow and sensual, and he enjoyed when John would get a bit rough and excited and manhandle him a bit. He really wasn't picky, this was **John** and he was free to put his hands on Sherlock whenever or wherever he wanted. He had asked John to get him off. He'd asked a lot. Nicely, angrily, plaintively. He didn't beg (despite what John claimed), as that would appear desperate and pathetic.

Either way, it didn't matter. John wouldn't go for it. Sherlock knew John was a romantic, and he also knew that John was a stubborn arsehole who would do things at his own pace when he damn well felt like it, thank-you-very-much. It didn't make waiting for John to put his hands and mouth and cock south of Sherlock's border any easier to handle.

And now...well, it was clear John had planned this and Sherlock was finally going to experience orgasm at another person's hands and suddenly it was all a bit much and he felt a bit panicky. Perhaps it _wasn't_  totally absurd of John to have waited. Sometimes, John was too smart for his own good. Really, he was just an expert in all things Sherlock.

Sherlock came to the open door and looked inside. Softly lit candles adorned the sink, mirror, and edges of the floor around the bathroom. Not near anything fire-catching, which was good because the fire department refused to respond to their calls anymore. And the tub was full. The water reflected the candlelight and wisps of steam rose invitingly from its surface. And the smell was lovely. Definitely seductive, Sherlock thought with a thrill.

"Hey, you," came a voice from behind him. Sherlock turned, and there was John. Beautiful, perfect John. Smiling at him and looking much too gorgeous in the soft light.

"John...how did you...?"

"Greg called. He said you were on your way and more wired than usual." as he spoke, John began unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt, divesting him of it quickly ("military," Sherlock's mind supplied) but sexily nonetheless ("military," his mind repeated with an audible eye roll). "I thought you could use a nice bath. Let go of some of that tension."

John's voice was a bit raspy. He was definitely turned on, but didn't seem insistent about his arousal. If Sherlock was honest with himself, this was the way John's voice sounded most of the time lately. As well as his own, though Sherlock's tended to take on a slightly more pouty tone at times.

John was now undoing Sherlock's trousers, pulling them down and then stepping back. "So...yeah. I'm just going to put on a bit of telly I think." John was clearing his throat a lot and backing toward the door again. Sherlock didn't know what to do. He thought this meant John wanted him. Had he really set all this up just for Sherlock to have a bath? I mean...not that the gesture went unappreciated, but the entire scenario around Sherlock screamed "seduction" right now. Did he read the situation wrong? Or was John coming down with a sudden bout of nerves?

"John?" Sherlock couldn't let him leave.

"Mm?" John stopped his backward trek.

Sherlock didn't know what else to do. He peeled down his pants and stepped out of them. He knew his erection was noticeable, if not fully hard quite yet. "Will you stay? I'd love it if...if you'd stay."

John looked down. "You sure? That bath is a good size, but I wouldn't say it's made for two."

"We'll figure it out."

John nodded, seeming to steel himself, and stripped off his clothing before Sherlock had even set towels down for them. His body was tight and compact, the only real softness around his belly, but all that did was add to his attractiveness somehow. Sherlock found himself wanting to kiss John's stomach almost as much as he fantasized sucking John's nipples and impressive cock. Almost. He shivered.

"You go first," Sherlock said.

John nodded again, smirking a little, his eyes flashing promisingly. Sherlock's stomach gave another flip as John stepped into the still-steaming water and lowered himself down. He bent his knees and parted them to make room for Sherlock's lanky frame. Sherlock followed suit, settling in the vee of John's legs and feeling cocooned in warmth.

"That's it," came John's voice behind him. "Just relax, and let me take care of you."

This did feel good. He felt the day finally melting off of him. The stress was replaced by calm, the frustration replaced by contentment. He took a breath and let himself melt back against John's front. John's erection pressed into his arse, not at all unwelcome. John huffed a breath behind him when Sherlock wiggled a little, but otherwise remained still. Sherlock sighed happily and settled in, dropping his head back on John's shoulder and closing his eyes.

For a few minutes, the only sound was their soft breathing. The only movement was from their chests rising and falling and the resulting mild water disturbance it caused. Sherlock was nearly asleep when he heard a soft *click* of something opening. He kept his eyes shut even while his heart sped up, just a little. He jumped a tiny bit when he felt a loofah touch his chest.

"Shh-shh, it's okay," John soothed. He ran the lather across Sherlock's chest, up and down his arms. John pressed Sherlock forward and ran the puff across his back as well. He went under the water too, losing most of the lather, but still scrubbing Sherlock's lower back, and up and down his legs. The omission of Sherlock's crotch did NOT go unnoticed. He felt his hips twitch, silently pleading for John's hands. He felt so relaxed and submissive, and still the need for John ran through him.

Instread, John used his a cup sitting on the edge of the tub to scoop water and rinse Sherlock's body. Sherlock's eyes were still closed. He felt John lean over him. Sherlock trembled in anticipation. John was reaching...for what was clearly a shampoo bottle, Sherlock realized when he heard another telltale click. He whined inwardly. At least he hoped it was inwardly. When would John get on with it already?!

Again the cup was used, only this time it was to wet Sherlock's hair. John giggled when he poured water down the front of Sherlock's face and he sputtered.

"You look like a wet poodle."

"Poodles, also known as most sexually frustrated breed of dogs."

Sherlock knew he was being a brat, but John said nothing. Instead he poured shampoo into his hand and began massaging it into Sherlock's scalp. Well. This felt amazing. Sherlock certainly wouldn't complain about this kind of contact. John's hands were firm yet gentle, soaping Sherlock's curls thoroughly, tugging at the ends again.

It felt so good. Sherlock couldn't help it; he moaned loudly. John's hands stilled for a moment, then started moving again, but this time it was slower, more sensually and with purpose.

"Does this feel good?"

God. John's voice was so throaty, it cracked with need. His cock was painfully hard and was poking against Sherlock, decidedly more insistent this time. Almost aggressive. He shivered once more at the realization that this may actually happen right now.

Sherlock knew that John was more than ready to take things a bit further, and he had been for ages. He used it to his advantage. Sherlock made a grinding motion against John, dropped his head forward again as though overwhelmed (and let's face it, he essentially WAS), and moaned. "Ohh, John. Oh, yes." Then in a softer voice, Sherlock said, "Please." It's the closest he would get to begging, but it apparently did the trick.

John lifted the cup to Sherlock's head and rinsed his hair. He wasn't rough about it, but he certainly wasn't going as slowly as he had during the lathering stage. Once the water ran clear, John's arms went round Sherlock's middle and he began kissing Sherlock's neck.

"Oh, Sherlock," John said between kisses, "I've been wanting this for almost as long as we've known each other."

"John," Sherlock rasped. "I've been...more than willing..."

"Oh, sweetheart, I know you have." John's hands inched slowly down Sherlock's torso as he delivered a particularly hard suck to Sherlock's carotid pulse point. Sherlock squirmed and hitched his hips, his cock so hard it looked angry, red and leaking under the water, the foreskin fully retracted, the wet head peeking through and begging for contact.

"Please-!" he gasped.

"I know I've been taking things a bit slowly."

"Glacial pace-ahh!" Sherlock reacted as John pinched one nipple and stroked the other.

"Mmmm, yes, fine. Glacial pace. But...I love you so much...I have loved you for so long...and you've never done any of this...I guess it was all a bit overwhelming."

As John finished speaking, one hand came round to grip Sherlock's cock lightly. Sherlock gasped and tried to thrust, but John's other hand pressed down against his hips, effectively pinning him in place.

"I think I'm ready now," John continued as he began to stroke. "Do you think you're ready too?"

God, that tease!! John's voice lilted, gruff and aroused. His cock was a stiff ridge between Sherlock's arse cheeks. And he was still the one taking Sherlock apart methodically. He really had planned all of this.

John continued. "I didn't want this to be something that happened impulsively. I guess...I was afraid you might regret it."

Sherlock turned his head to look at John, unbelieving. "John. I would never...you are it for me...you're everything I want. Everything I've ever wanted," he finished lamely, embarrassed and wondering when he had decided to star in a rom com.

John growled. Actually GROWLED, and his grip on Sherlock suddenly tightened. Sherlock cried out. His head lolled and he arched his back, his hips still pinned under John's hand.

John pulled at Sherlock's cock with sure, firm strokes, circling his thumb over the head with each pump, his other hand holding Sherlock still, and his mouth sucking and biting Sherlock's neck and shoulders. John's hand holding Sherlock's hip pressed down harder as he began to thrust against the crack of Sherlock's arse, moaning and panting.

Suddenly, it was all too much. Sherlock was right there. "Oh my god! John, I'm...I'm gonna-"

John's hand holding Sherlock's hips let go and reached under to cup his bollocks and press a finger to his perineum. Sherlock thrusted helplessly as his climax hit, cries of pleasure spilling from his mouth as thick ropes of semen spilled into the water. Vaguely, Sherlock registered John's voice encouraging him: "Yes, sweetheart. Oh, Sherlock, look at you. God, yes, you're beautiful. So much come, baby. You came so hard. You needed it so badly." It seemed to intensify and lengthen his orgasm. When the hard pleasure finally subsided and was replaced with a warm sleepiness, Sherlock felt himself collapse once again against John's chest.

John really didn't waste time. Gripping Sherlock's hips, he thrust hard and fast between Sherlock's cheeks, once, twice, three times, then stiffened and moaned, long and low as he added to the mess in the water. John turned Sherlock's face toward him and kissed him thoroughly. "So much for getting clean," he said and both of them doubled over in a fit of giggles.

"John, you must know by now. Showers are for cleaning oneself. Baths are for stewing in your own filth."

"Well then," John pressed another kiss to Sherlock's lips and smiled saucily. "Rub a dub dub."

And if Sherlock's eyes were open, he would have rolled them. 


End file.
